So the New Year didn't start quite how I would have wanted.
I guess that's putting it mildly. Sitting on the field with my two Alpacas, taking in the views, drinking tea and listening to Asgeir on New Year's Day I wasn't expecting to receive bad news. Life throws some shitty sticks at times - and at some point we are all unfortunate enough to catch one. Death is inevitable - it happens to us all. But how we treat death differs greatly around the world. Over the past couple of weeks I have attended a funeral in the UK and Turkey. Both desperately sad, dignified and beautiful in very different ways and for different reasons and both will linger in my memories for many years to come. In the UK to those close and to her many, many friends the loss of a colourful, fun-loving person at such a young age is devastating. Her funeral was truly beautiful. Carefully orchestrated with many visual and spoken memories in addition to music that holds very personal meaning to those close. When I arrived in Turkey, following the death of my Step-dad Alan, I had no concept of what was to follow. And it has been a tough and steep learning curve. The day before the funeral I visited the local morgue where I met a couple of Alan's friends. One Turkish and one English. I stayed out of the way while they dressed him. Then I had a couple of minutes alone with him to say my goodbyes and goodbye from my Mum and three sisters. I really can't go into too much detail on here. I don't think it would be right to provide too much of a description. But the experience of the morgue in Turkey was raw. And to be honest - shocking. But there was so much respect. And love. The local Imam helped the two friends to wrap Alan's body in a shroud once he was dressed. From what I understand (and forgive me if I am wrong) in Turkey the deceased go to the ground naked - wrapped simply in a shroud. So dressing the body was alien to them - but they respected our tradition. The following day, the funeral was to take place at midday. And in the morning the heavens opened. 'The burial may be delayed' was the message received at 10.30am. One thing I found a shock to the system was the lack of a 'service' - in a church or, as often in the UK, a Crematorium, Alan's body was carried from the morgue to the graveside in a box, lifted from the box and put straight into the ground. At this point I expected everyone to gather round. But everyone stayed at a respectful distance as the council workmen and Alan's friends proceeded to fill the grave. Whilst a shock and not what I was expecting - seeing all the men take turns to shovel the clay soil was quite moving. Once I had got over the shock I decided I needed to at least place one shovel of soil in the grave, whilst my Mum threw in a handful. We then stood there and watched the men work to replace every last scrap of clay soil and a temporary wooden marker. The Imam then spoke a few words from the Quran (we felt this was a fitting tribute on behalf of Alan's many Turkish friends), before a British friend, John, delivered a short eulogy and I read out a poem. And that was it. Raw. Basic. But with so much respect and love from the Kalkan community. An experience I will never forget for many reasons. I would like to say my own personal thanks to John (Fed) who I met for the first time at the weekend. Without his help, guidance and comfort I am not sure how we would have coped. There are many more that contributed in so many ways. Thank you Kalkan people x
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I have typed and deleted the opening sentence of this post several times. I have a lot to say but don't know how to say it or where to start.
I am always outwardly strong. I put on a brave face. I'm told I am good in a crisis. But today I broke. Today I lost my stepdad. I loved him dearly. He drove me nuts. But I loved him. Something inside me broke today. |
DebbieMe, my life, my family and my travels Archives
November 2022
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